


Raining on the outside

by jesseofthenorth



Series: I can't stand the rain [7]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Cussing, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Pre-Slash, Swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-17
Updated: 2014-03-17
Packaged: 2018-01-16 01:39:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 849
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1327000
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jesseofthenorth/pseuds/jesseofthenorth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clint wakes up. He still confused.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Raining on the outside

The first 24 hours all Clint does is sleep, get up to piss and swallow the pills Coulson hands him. He is barely aware of his surroundings beyond the foggily startled realisation that when Coulson said he was taking Clint home, Phil had meant his own home and not the cold, grungy cubbyhole where Clint left his shit when he was working.

He can't really make sense of the layout beyond the bed and and the bathroom Coulson helps him stumble his way to when Clint needs it. 

Walking the twenty feet from Coulson's guest room to the can and back seems to exhaust him. The thought of trying to keep food down is enough to make Clint nauseated but it's cool because Coulson doesn't try to feed him that first day. Just gives him apple juice to wash his pills down and leaves a stack of crackers on the bedside table in the guest room Clint is occupying. They are within easy reach so that every time Clint opens his eyes and the urge to barf creeps up from his belly, Clint can just reach over and get some relief. He barely feels any remorse for the crackers crumbs on the bedding.

Just about the time Clint is ready to ask for some Gravol or something he starts to feel better. He's still tired but not verging on exhaustion any more, and he really wants to get out of this bed for something more engaging than taking a piss. He has no idea what _day_ it is never mind what _time_ .

He rolls out of bed carefully and is glad as hell when he is only a little wobbly and not the least bit barfy. He opens the door and walks out barefoot, looking for Phil, food, and something to drink. His mouth is dry and his stomach is growling. All things being equal he has felt a lot worse than this. Very recently. This week even. He's calling being on his feet a win.

 

Coulson is at the stove. Cooking. Wearing jeans. Clint's brain kind of trips over itself for a second. Jeans and a _sweater_. It is a version of Agent Phil Coulson so casual and relaxed that all Clint can do with it is blink stand there like an idiot. He's still standing there, staring, when Phil turns around with a frying pan full of eggs in one hand and a spatula in the other.

He's wearing glasses. And smiling at Clint. "HEY. You're up! I hope you're ready to eat.”  
Coulson says waving his spatula for punctuation. Clint sees a stack of toast, and a pile of hash browns and freshly made bacon on the counter between them. “I never have time to cook any more so I went a little crazy.” .

Clint knows the feeling (going a little crazy) and suddenly needs to sit down. It's one thing to admire a guy, have a little bro-crush on him maybe. Or admire how smart he is. But this is Clint's boss for all intents and purposes and the sight of him in worn out jeans and what looks to be the softest sweater in existence should not be enough to make Clint lose his mind. Which he apparently has. He because he kind of really wants to walk across the kitchen, pull the spatula out of Coulson's hand and kiss the shit out of him.

He sits down in the nearest chair instead. Takes a steadying breath and says “Is there any coffee?”

Coulson smiles wide and hands over a cup. Clint is suddenly aware he might be in more trouble in a small apartment kitchen than he had been in eastern europe a few days ago.

Clint takes the cup black and unsweetened, just the way he likes it, and looks out the window while Coulson starts filling a plate. It daylight out and Clint is unsurprised to notice that it's pouring rain again. The shitty weather is clearly tied to all the unstable dangerous shit that's been happening to him lately. He takes a sip of his coffee and tries to talk himself out of thinking about any of it.

Coulson saving his ass when it would have been a lot safer to ditch him. The way Coulson hands steadied him when Clint was hurt. The care Coulson has always taken with him. Coulson taking him home instead of dropping him off somewhere. Clint really wishes it all added up to more than a friend with a really well developed sense of responsibility.

Nope. No point in dwelling on any of it.

Clint says thanks when Coulson hands him a plate, works hard at not staring at this unfamiliarly relaxed and smiling Coulson while he eats the best damned scrambled eggs he's ever tasted.

When they are done eating Phil shoos him out to the living room, points at the sofa, hands him a fresh cup of coffee and the remote, before disappearing back into the kitchen.

Clint is sound asleep when Phil comes out twenty minutes later.

Phil let's him sleep.


End file.
